In the months before her death, Martine Partridge wrote a letter to family and friends explaining her decision to seek medical assistance to end her life.

She started the letter in December 2016, shortly after the young Edmontonian received news her cancer was progressing. It was finished in subsequent weeks in the hospital as she learned all her options for treatment had been exhausted.

Excerpts from the letter were presented at her memorial service last month, but it is published here in full.

Before her death, Partridge worked as an instructor at NAIT and MacEwan University, and freelanced as a communications consultant. She held a master’s degree in literature from the University of Edinburgh and loved to travel.

Diagnosed with Crohn’s disease at age 15, she maintained a much beloved food blog (eathealthrive.ca) with recipes and advice designed to help others with autoimmune diseases.

Partridge died at home on May 21 at age 39.

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About six months ago Bill C-14 passed. I remember well the passing of this legislation not so much because of how it would come to impact my life viscerally and directly months later, but more for the hilarious antics of “elbow gate.”

But in all seriousness, medical assistance in dying is now ever present in my mind and heart. At times a little too present with an urgency that worries me, but I feel confident that all will work out as it should in a humane and peaceful manner.

I choose medical assistance in death because I love and cherish life. For me life is to be lived as Thoreau described: “deliberately ... I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear ... I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.”

Dis-Ease has taken so much from me. That nasty “emperor of all maladies,” so aptly defined by Siddhartha Mukherjee, started to chip away at all that is dear to me — the gentle movement of my favourite yoga poses, hugging my dear ones without the awkward discomfort of ports and other medical devices impeding our embrace, culminating in zapping the pleasure of a simple sip of clean, refreshing lemon water.

My mind and my heart are strong; however, my body is not. And this reality is what drives my decision. While cancer can’t take my spirit, it has stripped me of my sense of self so much so that I’m left only with a battered and decrepit shell that holds what used to be Martine. This is intolerable to me.

To quote and ever-so-slightly tweak a line Julia Roberts’ portrayal of southern belle Shelby in Steel Magnolias: I’d rather have 40 years of wonderful than a life time of not so special. Accessing Medical Assistance in Death (MAiD) grants me this desire, this mercy. It allows me to pass over on my terms. And without Bill C-14, this clemency of choosing my time would not be possible. For this I am endlessly grateful.

Admittedly, the deterioration and toll the disease has taken has passed a level I’m comfortable with. But disease is so damn unpredictable and as things progress, I am at least empowered by the notion that I get to say when and how and why my last breath will be taken.

I am blessed with supportive family who love me so dearly, they are willing to set aside the heartache of this harsh reality and respect my last wish, which is to pass away peacefully at home surrounded by my loved ones.

People say I’m brave; I don’t see this choice as brave. I see this choice as honouring what is true and right in my core.

There’s so much more to say, but if I can leave you with anything it would be that my choice is based entirely on how very much I value life. I believe life is to be lived fully and vigorously and vibrantly and when it became clear this was no longer an option for me, I chose physician-assisted death on my terms. My passing will be peaceful and humane. I couldn’t ask for more as I head up around the bend.